Thursday, November 21, 2013

My guest today is one of the coolest folks I know. She's been a good friend and, frankly, a damned good author. Please welcome C.W. LaSart to my blog.

C.W. LaSart (Left) and Robert McCammon at World Horror Con 2013

JJ: When did you start writing?

C.W.: I started writing as soon as I was able to write. I
didn’t take it serious until just a few years ago, but there were very few
times when I wasn’t writing something.

JJ: What was the first story you remember writing?

C.W.: It would have to be a terrible little chapbook I made in
the second or third grade. A blatant case of plagiarism, my Mother still
treasured it. She may even still have it.

JJ: What genre is your most preferred?

C.W.: I prefer both reading and writing horror. I read a little
fantasy from time to time, but horror is my main genre for both.

JJ: What challenges you the most in your writing?

C.W.: Adopting a schedule. I am a very fast writer, but I am
also very lazy. I procrastinate until the last minute and often miss deadlines
because of it.

JJ: What is your favorite thing about being an author?

C.W.: My favorite thing about being an author is when a
stranger contacts you to tell you how much they enjoyed your work. The opinions
of friends and family should always be viewed with some measure of skepticism,
but a stranger has no reason to lie.

JJ: What do you like least about being an author?

C.W.: Being constantly hounded to read other people’s work. My
reading list is huge and I am always contacted with requests to read someone’s
unpublished or self-published novel. Sometimes they are very blunt and rude
about it.

JJ: How many books do you currently have available?

C.W.: I have one short story collection, Ad Nauseam: 13 Tales
of Extreme Horror, published by Dark Moon Books. I also have over a dozen short
stories published in anthologies, but only the one book that’s just me.

JJ: What projects are you currently working on?

C.W.: I am working on several shorts for projects that I’ve
already agreed to, and I have two novels currently in the first draft phase.

JJ: Do you have any books coming out soon?

C.W.: Nothing too soon. I usually have some anthology or
another being released, but at the moment, I have no release dates to share.
Sorry!

JJ: Which book, or series, is your favorite?

C.W.: Now that’s a bit embarrassing, because it’s not horror at
all. My favorite series, hands down, would have to be A Song of Ice and Fire by
George R.R. Martin. I can’t help it. I’m a total addict. The time between books
in that series is killing me, and I have a terrible fear that the author could
die before it’s finished and I will NEVER KNOW!

JJ: Who are some of your favorite authors?

C.W.: Edgar Allen Poe, Stephen King, Robert McCammon, George
R.R. Martin and Brian Lumley are the ones that come instantly to mind, however
I also enjoy Jonathan Maberry, Dan Simmons, David Wellington and many others. I read a lot, so there are
just too many to mention them all.

JJ: Which book(s) inspire you the most?

C.W.: Pet Semetary by Stephen King, was my first real horror
novel, so it definitely had a lasting impact. But I would have to say that my
inspiration as a writer has always been Robert McCammon. When he gave up
writing, I was devastated, but he is back and better than ever!

JJ: Do you listen to music when you write? If so, what
band(s) do you play?

C.W.: Not at all. Music distracts me. I have always wished I
could listen to it while I write, but I need white noise only in the background, the more neutral, the better.
Absolute silence is as bad as music to me.

JJ: Any hobbies?

C.W.: I used to have hobbies, and then I had children. Of
course, I read a great deal, and I like to cook. I volunteer more time than I
care to admit to the Bram Stoker Award ® Committee as their Head Verifier. I
also like to practice the art of napping. I’m very good at that!

JJ: Tell us some more about yourself including your website and
where we can find you on social media sites.

C.W.: This is an excerpt of Jack And Jill. It’s the first
story I ever sold, and still one of my favorites.

Jack sat at the worn kitchen table, his hands buried in the guts of an
ancient radio, tinkering with the parts in a vain attempt to fix the antique.
He told the owner, Mrs. Jones, that he feared the radio was beyond fixing, but
she insisted with a clear statement that she held complete faith in his
abilities.He mentioned how cheap it'd
cost to replace nowadays, but she liked that one and would hear nothing of the
new fangled junk they peddled at the ritzy stores in town.In the end, he let himself be brow beaten by
an eighty-four year old woman who stood a foot and a half shorter than himself.

Though he mainly
worked as a handy man around town, word of mouth brought him some additional
side jobs when people started to realize his proficiency with small household
electronics. It was difficult to find steady work, being an ex-con, so he
happily accepted whatever odd jobs came his way. This one, however, proved more
work than the twenty-five dollar fee was worth.

A scraping sound
from the room above the kitchen drew his attention from his task.

She was moving
around up there again.

He sighed and lit
another cigarette, dragging deeply and rubbing his eyes as he exhaled a cloud
of bluish smoke.

Too soon. He had nearly been caught the last time.

He turned his
attention back to the project at hand, hoping that if he pretended not to hear
her, she’d return to sleep, or whatever else she did up there. He no longer
went upstairs.

He could smell her
sickly sweet odor long before he heard the moist slap of her feet on the
linoleum behind him. Jack sat up straight in his chair and stared directly
ahead at the fading rose-patterned wallpaper, keeping his breaths shallow
through his mouth to avoid the stench of decay. Only one thought went through
his mind over and over again, like a dog chasing its tail.

Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.

Her gravelly voice
made the hair on his arms stand up. “I’m hungry,” she said.

“I know.”

Click the picture to be whisked away to Amazon to buy this terrifying collection.

Saturday, October 26, 2013

I am having so much fun with Coffin Hop this year. There are so many wonderful authors and publishing houses signed up this year. Click that badge over on the right there and check out the list for yourself. Scroll through and visit all the super awesome writers that have given of their time and hard work to make this event the fun it is.

On to my interview with the lovely, and utterly amazing, Leigh M Lane. We share a ToC together in the charity anthology Scare Package and she has blessedly edited two of my books so trust me when I say this woman rocks.

Q: When did you start writing?

A: I was just a little girl, somewhere around nine or ten
years old, when the writing bug first bit me.

Q: What was the first story you remember writing?

A: I don’t remember a whole lot about it since it was around
thirty years ago, but I do remember it was about a good witch and her cat. I
also remember giving it a cardboard cover, complete with crayon drawings (because
all “real” books have proper covers).

Q: What genre is your most preferred?

A: Horror, of course. My favorite works tend to be on the
psychological and literary end of the spectrum, although I do also enjoy
paranormal thrillers.

Q: What challenges you the most in your writing?

A: I’d say my biggest challenge is time management. Facebook
can be an evil, evil trap.

Q: What is your favorite thing about being an author?

A: I love hearing from readers, knowing something I wrote
has affected all different kinds of people all across the world. I like being
able to share a piece of myself in such a personal way.

Q: What do you like least about being an author?

A: I can’t stand the cliques and politics.

Q: How many books do you currently have available?

A: Ten. I have four literary works—dystopian thriller World-Mart, Gothic horror Finding Poe, religious allegory Myths of Gods, and contemporary
paranormal horror The Hidden Valley
Horror—published under Leigh M. Lane, as well as the erotic horror trilogy The Darkness and the Night and two
sci-fi romances published under Lisa Lane.

Q: What projects are you currently working on?

A: I’ve just begun the second installment of what I hope to
be a paranormal horror novella series, I’m in the development stages of a
sequel to World-Mart, and I’m
redrafting a couple of horror shorts.

Q: Do you have any books coming out soon?

A: I’m currently shopping another dystopian novel, The Private Sector, a loose prequel to World-Mart. I have no idea when it will
be available.

Q: Which book, or series, is your favorite?

A: Finding Poe is
my baby, although The Private Sector
comes at a close second.

A: I find literary works most inspiring, especially those
that tread far from the beaten path. A good example is Louise Erdrich’s The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No
Horse. Using a combination of Catholicism and American Indian lore, the
author creates such beauty through dissonance and juxtaposition of religious
imagery. It really is brilliant, and it inspires me to strive for that level of
artistry in my own writing.

Q: Do you listen to music when you write? If so, what
band(s) do you play?

A: These days, I’m rarely able to listen to music while I
write. When I was younger, I found it inspiring, and I listened to different
styles depending on the genre I was writing.Hard rock or metal worked well for horror, alternative rock was my
typical sci-fi music, and classical inspired my literary work.

Q: Any hobbies?

A: I enjoy sketching and painting, singing, writing critical
analyses on television and cinema, researching random subjects, and spending
time with my aging cat, Kadie. I like cooking and baking, challenging hubby to
games of Scrabble (we’re highly competitive) and playing the occasional action-adventure
video game.

Tell us some more about yourself including your website and
where we can find you on social media sites:

Those who know me well would likely describe me as honest to
a fault (my “lie” filter just doesn’t function like most people’s, which can be
both good and bad), but also generous, empathetic, and passionate about
everything I do. I’m the adopted daughter of a professional football coach, I
have an identical twin sister, and I have six other half siblings. My husband
is an exceptional editor and my greatest support.

Absolutely.In the
spirit of its upcoming prequel and sequel, the following is a short excerpt
from World-Mart:

George slowed his pace as the piles of trash on his left
gave way to an immense automobile graveyard.Old metal frames, engines, and compacted cubes sat piled amongst rusty
remnants of the Old World’s most popular form of transportation.George remembered automobiles.He had never driven one, but he had ridden in
many of them up until his early teens.They became obsolete even before fossil fuels became scarce, phased out
in a last ditch effort to reverse the effects of global warming.Of course, the effort came far too late, and
the Big Climate Change happened anyway.

George marveled at the piles of twisted metal, reminiscing
back to the all but completely forgotten days of road trips, family vacations,
and regular visits with relatives.The
world had been a far different place for almost as long as he could remember,
and sometimes he forgot how much life really had changed through the
years.He stopped for a moment, his
breath still, as he and Joseph came upon the remains of a large, commercial
airliner.

Joseph stopped with George, assuming the older man had never
before seen a vehicle so large.“It’s
called an aero-jet.They say people used
to get these heavy behemoths up in the air, somehow, and keep them there long
enough to fly anywhere across the globe.It seems impossible, I know, but—”

“I remember airplanes,” George gently interrupted.

Joseph turned to George, surprised.“You do?”

George took one last good look at the dead mechanical
structures at his side, and then continued down the trail.It was strange how familiar, yet so equally
foreign, the vehicles were.He never had
the opportunity to fly before all of the commercial airlines shut down, but he
remembered watching planes cross the sky when he was very young.Sometimes he would wonder if those memories
were no more than petty childhood imaginings: spectral flying machines that
disappeared from the skies once Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny fell into
their rightful ranks of childhood fantasy.With everything he just saw, however, he knew that they all had to have
been real ... every single one of them.

Once upon a time.

George wondered if he looked hard enough, or dug deep enough
through the endless piles of trash, perhaps he’d find that God was buried
somewhere out there as well.

Thursday, October 24, 2013

It's Coffin hop time folks! The fun begins today and if you're on Facebook please be sure to come to my release party for my new book Bob The Sequel. There's prizes to be had and a crazy amount of fun, too. If you want to see all the other Hoppers make sure you go to www.CoffinHop.com and check the list out! Alright, let's get to it...

I've not interviewed another author before and I couldn't have picked a better one to start with. For those who don't know him already, Armand Rosamilia is a top notch horror author and one of the best zombie authors I've met. Here's a picture of him standing next to one of the other best zombie authors, Joe McKinney.

Let's begin!

Q: When did you start writing?

A: When I was twelve, but seriously in my early twenties.
Then I screwed around and walked away from it and found it again in my
thirties. I got serious about two years ago (in my forties) and decided to d
this for a living. So far so good.

Q: What was the first story you remember writing?

A: "Beastie" was the first horror story I
completed and I was 18. I ended up 'selling' it a couple of years later to a
side-stapled zine. I'm quite proud of it and I've released it in a collection
or two over the years.

Q: What genre is your most preferred?

A: Horror, but I've also written thrillers ("Miami Spy
Games"), contemporary fiction ("Flagler Beach Fiction Series")
and even erotica under a penname. I enjoy writing horror the most, though. o

Q: What challenges you the most in your writing?

A: Focusing each and every day on a small word count goal of
2,000 words. Not turning on the TV or reading a book or doing a million other
things until I hit my goal.

Q: What is your favorite thing about being an author?

A: The hours. I can some days pump out 2,000 words in 90
minutes and then do promotion, answer e-mails and kill the rest of the day
doing what I want to do.

Q: What do you like least about being an author?

A: The hours, lol… sometimes I fight to stay in the chair
and other days I can't keep away from it and spend 10-15 hours writing and
editing and answering interviews and e-mails. There is no clock to punch to go
home because I'm always home.

Q: How many books do you currently have available?

A: On Amazon I have
over 100 releases with my name on it. I am what you might call prolific. I set
a goal and 99.9% of the time I hit it.

Q: What projects are you currently working on?

A: About 6 of them. I'll have the fourth "Flagler Beach
Fiction Series" book out by mid-November (Flagler Fish Company) as well as
"Evil," the fifth and final Keyport Cthulhu story and then the print
book will soon follow… Dying Days: Origins and Dying Days: European Village 2
co-written with Tim Baker, and then an anthology with writers playing in my
Dying Days universe called Still Dying 2… and that's just what's coming in
November.

Q: Which book, or series, is your favorite?

A: Definitely Robert E. Howard's Conan series. As a kid I read and re-read them over and over. They
were amazing and I still also have a complete run of the Conan Marvel Comics, too. I'm a geek.

A: Most books do. I love to read and get some new insight or
ideas from everything I read.

Q: Do you listen to music when you write? If so, what
band(s) do you play?

A: I put music on in the background but usually not anything
I know or like so it doesn't distract me. I'm used to writing in public places
with customers talking and music playing, so I need some noise.

Q: Any hobbies?

A: Who has time for that?

Tell us some more about yourself including your website and
where we can find you on social media sites:

I am all over social media. My website ishttp://armandrosamilia.com and you can find
me on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, new Myspace… everywhere.

Care to share a bit of one of your books with us?

This is the unedited first chapters to Dying Days: Origins…

Dying Days: Origins

Chapter One:
Notorious

The
apartment was cramped, smoky and the radio way too loud for the neighbors.
Tosha Shorb tried to get to the window to open it despite the cold night, but
several drunks were in her way.

"Excuse
me," she asked the guy in front of her. He ignored her.

She
was tired - she'd worked a double today - and, despite three shots was still
sober. And now she was sweating because forty people were crammed into this
shitty apartment.

"Excuse
me," she said louder, trying to talk over the inane pop music blasting.
When he glanced down at her and smirked, putting his beer can to his lips, she
lost it. Before she could think she'd swung around and smashed him in the face,
the can crushing on his face and beer exploding in all directions.

"What
the fuck?" he managed, and took a defensive position even as blood and
beer streamed down his face and chest. He cocked his fist to punch but stopped,
staring at his attacker.

Tosha
was a slight redhead with piercing eyes, which were now filled with rage. She
looked much younger than her twenty-seven years, which wasn't a good thing when
you worked in a hospital and patients never took you seriously when you came
for blood-work.

She
put her hands on her hips, aware the music had been turned down and all eyes on
her. As usual. Glad her twin sister wasn't here to give her the motherly look,
she tried to remain calm. "I asked you to move."

The
guy laughed. "Are you even allowed in here, little girl? What are you,
twelve?"

There
were a few snickers from those guests that didn't know Tosha. To her friends
and those aware of her reputation, they knew what was coming and took two steps
back.

The
rage was building. She had two choices: turn and walk out and go home, or take
action.

She
put her right foot back a step at the same time he wiped his face and winked at
her. Tosha tipped her weight forward with her hard leather boot swinging,
catching him squarely in the groin.

As
he doubled over, dropping to one knee, she leaned over and got in his face.
"I'm allowed wherever the fuck I want, you fat piece of shit." Tosha
winked at him as people grabbed her by the arms and pulled her away.

"I
think you need to leave," someone said to her.

"Of
course. You can't have some little girl in here kicking dude's asses, can
you?" Tosha shrugged off their grip and gave them the finger as she left.

Chapter Two: Flesh
Eater

It was cold but
her rage kept her more than warm. Her Lizzy Borden concert shirt - she'd picked
it up in Allentown during their last U.S.
tour - was sticking to her chest and her tight blue jeans were starting to
bother her. Her toes still felt numb after kicking the guy in the balls, and
the thought of it made her laugh.

The
streets of Harrisburg
were empty, as usual. "Should've listened to Trista and stayed in."
Her sister was the introverted one, preferring to sit home after work and play
videogames online with her imaginary friends instead of going out into the
actual world and talking to actual people.

She
even preferred to be called by her stupid online name, Mathyu. Tosha didn't
know if that was the dumb part, or the fact that she'd started addressing her
sister by the name.

In
order to get to her apartment she cut through an alley between the McDonalds
and the Harrisburg Laundromat. It always smelled bad down here, but it was much
worse during the summer, when the garbage heated up, rotten food and dead rats
stinking. The bums loved this alley because the fast food garbage was tossed in
the dumpster, and they'd rip the bags apart and feast.

Tosha
decided to sleep in tomorrow, burying herself in her pillows and stuffed
animals on her bed, curtains drawn, and threaten her sister to not wake her
unless the world was ending.

She
was so focused on her thoughts she stumbled into the bum, standing in the dark
in the middle of the alley.

"Watch
where you're going," she said loudly. Usually when you shouted or acted
crazier than they did, the bums would leave you alone.

He
didn't move.

When
she tried to sidestep him he grabbed her left arm. He leaned into her and his
breath was like rotting meat and bile. Tosha nearly gagged, but knew she had to
get away from this crack-head or drunk and escape before she was raped.

"Back
off, dickhead," she said and pushed him away. He simply reached for her
again. Tosha easily moved around him and ran down to the other end of the
alley. When she looked back he was walking slowly toward her. "Fuck you,
asshole. Maybe I'll call the cops."

He
kept coming with that staggered, insanely slow stutter step. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? Was
he fucking with me, trying to freak me out? Playing some game?

As
he got closer she tried to see his face, but it was too dark. Was he smiling,
laughing, stoned? Tosha had all kinds of overdoses in the hospital, and she'd
seen too many drug addicts with faraway stares or looks like they wanted to
kill you.

She
walked backwards to the other side of the street, aware she was alone. A quick
glance north and south confirmed her fear. There wasn't a person out this time
of night. No cars went by on the cross streets, she didn't hear traffic, not
even a train rumbling by.

It
felt like an hour but he finally made it to the end of the alley and stepped
out onto the sidewalk and under the street light.

Tosha
gasped. He was covered in blood, his mouth dripping with it.

"Is
this some fucking joke, asshole? It's not funny. Did you come from that lame
party, and think you can fuck with me?"

She
puffed out her chest and planted her feet. She was headstrong and didn't run
away from a challenge, even if it was a dumb idea. Her past was littered with
dumb ideas, and she thought this was about to be another one.

"Last
chance to leave me alone," she said. He took another three steps forward,
within ten feet, when she gasped.

Something
wet and bloody fell from his mouth and to the pavement. His eyes were glazed
over and dead, his mouth slowly moving like he was biting the air. His arms
were bent forward, straining at her.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

I'm currently
editing a novel I wrote a couple years ago. It's similar to Shifters but has
its very own interesting cast of characters. Since Zombies are so big right now
I thought I would introduce you to Bob. He is a zombie that was inspired by my
friend Nate. As I edited this novel that was originally written for my friends
at Cellufun I changed a few names and even rewrote large chunks (including the
ending) to make the story flow better. Bob decided he had a little side story
to share with you guys and here it is. I hope you enjoy him as much as I do.
Nate, if you're reading this; don't ever forget that horde equals family! Now
on to Bob...

"It's not easy
being an Undead American in this day and age. People are always assuming you're
just a mindless brain muncher. They think that those of us who have been
reanimated are just hollow shells bent on destruction and death. They couldn't
be more wrong. I have never hurt anyone that didn't deserve it, and I cook. What does cooking have to do
with killing someone? Not a darn thing, but how many zombies do you know that
like to work in a kitchen? Exactly.

I really, truly love
cooking. It brings me peace and clarity. Trust me, clarity is hard when your
eyes have been decomposing for awhile. Also, I do have a tendency to lose the
occasional piece of myself. Drats, now Patsy Cline's 'I Fall to Pieces' is
running through my head. Anyway, whenever something...detaches, I just staple
it back on. The magic that reanimated me uses the iron in the staples to heal
my rotting flesh just enough to stick it back together. It's kind of like
supernatural superglue. Although there is superglue that has been spelled to
work on zombie flesh too, I prefer the stapler. It gets more laughs. I try hard
to get people to laugh. I'd like to think that if they laugh with you, they
can't fear you. I'd be wrong...dead wrong. (Oh, come on, don't groan. You knew
that was coming.)

The staples, or
glue, help with the worst of the decomposition as far as looks. Sadly, when it
comes to smell that's where I am discriminated against the most. Everyone
assumes that just because I am a rotting corpse I have to smell like one. It's
called bubble bath, deodorant, and toothpaste, people. The modern age has given
rise to some really kick ass zombie friendly ways to...well, stink less. Oh,
and I'm totally secure enough in my masculinity to tell you that I take bubble
baths. They're really great for making me feel better when I'm dead tired. (Wink.)

I used to use the
sauna for relaxing, but I was banned from my health club. They said that I
creeped out the other members. Sheesh. Lightweights. I admit there was probably
some residual anger from the owner over the time I came out of the sauna and my
face slipped down my skull, but I fixed it quickly and no kids saw it. It
wasn't like I lost my towel in front of the entire gym, so my face slipped a
bit. I tell you serious discrimination exists against us Undead Americans.

It's like the time I
was fired from the Cafe DuLac. Apparently losing a finger in the omelet you're
cooking is bad form and frowned upon. Like I took it off and put it in the food
on purpose! I'll have you know that I very rarely give people the finger.
Besides, what do they have to complain about? A little extra meat on their
plate? I'm the one who lost a finger. Did anyone bother to ask if I was ok? No.
They just sat there and gagged while the chef tossed me out on my ear.
Literally. My ear fell off as he was shoving me out the door, I landed on it.

Sorry, I'm supposed
to be telling you about the time I entered and won a fully restored, pimped out
1971 Dodge Challenger R/T. I found out about this contest from my favorite
radio station and gave it a shot. The 'Challenge for the Challenger' was to
keep your hand on the car as long as you can. I'm pretty sure you can guess
what I did when I had to pee. Hey, they never said my whole body had to be
there, just my hand. Luckily for me, there was nothing in the rule book
disqualifying a zombie. Nor was there any rule stating you couldn't rip off your
hand and leave it on the car. Ain't semantics wonderful?

Well now, that story
didn't take as long as I'd hoped. I guess I could tell you about the time I won
the Elvis contest, that's when I learned that chicks dig a dancing zombie.
Especially one who break dances. Well, truthfully I more break than dance, but
it's always fun. Even if the occasional appendage flies across the room and
lands in some lady's martini. Not my fault she didn't find the finger sandwich
joke amusing. To be fair to her, I'd probably be creeped out if someone left
their finger in my food or drink. I don't think I would have run out of the
place screaming, but to each their own. Good thing she wasn't around for the
'handburger' incident.

Then there was the
time I was thrown out of Denny's, shit you not. I know what you're thinking,
and you're right. Hardly anyone gets tossed out of that place. I managed it by
losing my nose in my 'Moons Over My Hammy' breakfast. I tried to make it funny.
When the manager came to yell at me I told her it just smelled so good that my
nose leapt off for a closer sniff. It didn't do much good, I still got tossed.
I hate discrimination. I understand that it probably grossed some weak
stomached people out but c'mon, I can't help what falls off where. Believe me,
if I could, I would. It'd save me a fortune in staples. I guess what I'm really
trying to say is that, it's not easy being green."

Well that's a bit of
Bob for you. No, really, he left a toe or something over there on my blog
floor. Dear God, I hope that's a toe.

Friday, March 1, 2013

Those of you who know me, know about Mr. B. He's my fuzzy giant guardian and right now he has got it bad for the sweet tempered, adorable, little border collie next door. I mean bad. He howls and whines if he sees she is outside and he will haul his gianormous furry behind at light speed over to the property line to meet her.

She comes over every day and waits in plain view for Mr. B to see her. When I let him out she runs to the treeline and stops just on the other side. Then they chat for awhile, tails wagging and tongues lolling. Little by little she gets closer and closer to him. Each day brings another inch and a few hours of my pup sulking around the house gazing out of the windows looking for Lola.

God help you if you play either 'Lola' or 'Copacabana' in my house. If you play either song Bigs will start pinin' away and running from window to window looking for his furry little love. No kidding. Much like Pavlov's dog, when mine hears the signal he starts drooling. When I say drool, I mean it. The big fellow drools a lot, no big deal he's a St. Bernard they do that, but it's the accompanying whining and trotting around to all the windows that really shows the poor fellow is in the throes of some serious puppy love.